


As He Breaks, So Shall It Break ...

by Delanach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delanach/pseuds/Delanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastair doesn't get free while Dean's torturing him. Dean's sanity slips when the demon tells him that he broke the first seal while he was in Hell. He steps up the interrogation, helped by Sam when he arrives, all hyped up on demon blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As He Breaks, So Shall It Break ...

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** AU from the middle of "On the Head of a Pin". Written for Kink Bingo 2011, for the Bloodplay square.  
>  **Warnings:** Torture, extreme gore, blood drinking.

_“You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.”_

Dean’s warning echoed through Castiel’s head as Alastair’s screams filled the otherwise silent warehouse. He closed his eyes and inwardly battled over how what he’d been ordered to do felt so wrong and went against everything he was.

****

~*~*~*~*~*~

Inside the room, Dean paused, the shock of hearing that he’d broken the first seal hanging in the air between him and Alastair.

He’d been weak, worn down by thirty years of torment and torture, but that was no excuse. John had endured a hundred years and hadn’t broken.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Alastair murmured.

Dean stared ahead, seeing nothing but his own failure. He’d let everyone down; Sam, Bobby, his Dad, his Mom. Hell, a whole world of people he’d never know. All of them facing death or worse because of him. Dean’s world zeroed down to one small point of faint light. He’d done what he’d done, and he couldn’t take it back, couldn’t hope to fix it, not something that big. He wasn’t the man his Dad had wanted him to be; he wasn’t a hero, wasn’t even someone who could endure for long enough for it to make a difference.

The knife in his hand felt solid, real, something he could rely on. He tightened his grip. There was nothing he could do to change the past, to undo what he’d done, and he wasn’t strong enough to fix things, that he knew, but he could do this one thing. He could take all that he’d learned at Alastair’s feet and use it one last time.

“No, I don’t think you are lying. But even if the demons do win, you won’t be there to see it.”

Dean turned around and strode back to where Alastair hung from his bonds. His hand tightened around the hilt of the knife soaked in Holy water and crusted with salt and thrust it up between Alastair’s ribs, careful to angle it so it caused maximum hurt but minimum damage. That’s what he’d been taught.

_“Pain is the key, Dean.”_

It had been Alastair’s mantra. Now, the demon could only howl, another rivulet of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth as his body convulsed.

Dean cut Alastair’s clothes from his body, leaving him naked and wary. He took the knife and poked the tip of it under Alastair’s chin, pushing his head up as he stood so close he could feel the demon’s fetid breath on his cheek.

“Who’s killing the angels?” Dean growled. It felt good to get a little payback for the years Alastair had spent carving him into someone who had no choice left but to say yes, to agree to inflict pain and torment onto other souls so he could escape what was being done to his own.

Only it hadn’t been an escape. Every slice he took, every cry he pulled from his victims, cut him just as deeply as if Alastair still had him on the rack, until one day, something in him snapped. He let go of the guilt and the shame and plunged the knife into his next victim with relish, pretending it was Alastair he had spread out and weeping, imagining his tormentor was the one begging for mercy as Dean slowly cut him into pieces, strip by strip by strip.

Dean pressed harder, and the knife slid deeper, cutting easily through skin and muscle until it hit bone. Dean twisted it, making Alastair cry out sharply and attempt to wrench his head away.

“Tell me who’s killing the angels?”

At this point, Dean didn’t care. It was an excuse to take out his rage and pain on his tormentor. He drew the tip of the knife across Alastair’s torso in a long, diagonal line. It wasn’t deep enough to break the skin, just enough to score it and encourage blood to bead at the surface. Again, this time a shallow cut that mirrored the first, leaving the demon with a bloody cross emblazoned on his chest. Again and again Dean went over the two lines, until they were deep and oozing blood.

“Who’s killing the angels?” Dean repeated.

Now he sliced neatly, until he could peel back a strip of skin, exposing the muscle underneath to the air. Alastair hung from his bonds, panting, the body he wore trembling as Dean continued his grisly work. Once he’d stripped the skin from groin to chest, he plunged the knife in deep, moving it around, making Alastair scream.

Dean smiled, a twisted grin that matched the cruel gleam in his eyes. He discarded the knife and dug his fingers into the wound, hooking them around the softer tissue inside, pulling on it as Alastair spasmed, his head dropping forward as he keened.

Behind him, Dean heard the door open, but he didn’t stop tormenting the demon.

“Dean.”

Castiel’s voice was full of sorrow, but that didn’t matter to Dean. The angel had given him a way to get a little payback for what he endured during his forty years in Hell, and although he’d been reluctant, now he was grateful for the chance.

“He still won’t talk.” Dean half turned to face Castiel, keeping his hand inside Alastair’s chest cavity. “He needs more work.”

“Dean, I‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“I’m fine, Cas, more than fine.” He turned back to Alastair and grabbed a hold of his heart, twisting it.

Alastair’s eyes rolled back in his head, and blood gurgled in his throat, dribbling down his chin. Dean took a hold of his hair and wrenched his head back.

“And I’m just getting started.”

“No, Dean, I can’t let you do this.” Castiel pushed Dean back with invisible force, ripping his hand from Alastair’s chest and pinning him against the wall.

“No!” Dean roared and thrashed in Castiel’s grip. “Let me go, Cas, now dammit.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel apologized to Dean as he walked towards Alastair, sadness in his eyes.

Behind him, the door slammed open hard enough to leave it hanging from its hinges. Dean dropped to the ground as Castiel was flung up towards the ceiling.

“Sam?” Dean got to his feet, wiping his bloody hands on his jeans.

“Dean.” Sam strode towards him and helped him to his feet. “Did he talk yet?”

“No, but I can make him.”

Sam nodded and stood back to let Dean get to Alastair. Without a word, he plunged his hand back into the demon’s chest. Alastair jerked, looking up at Dean through a haze of pain as Dean’s fingers tightened around his heart again.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he panted.

Dean growled in frustration, lashing out with his left fist, sending Alastair’s head crashing back against the cross he was tied to. Dean tensed as he felt Sam walk up behind him.

“Let me help.”

Sam looped an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him back against his body and holding him firmly in place as he nuzzled Dean’s neck. With his other hand, he reached out over Dean’s shoulder, holding his palm up in front of Alastair’s face. 

“Answer the question,” Sam commanded and tore at the demon stuck inside the wrecked and broken meatsuit.

Dean squeezed Alastair’s heart viciously, and blood ran down his arm, dripping from his elbow to the floor.

“Who’s murdering the angels? How are they doing it?”

Sam’s interrogation forced Alastair into revealing that Lilith wasn’t killing the angels and Dean reveled in Alastair’s pain, adding to it with his bare hands plunged deep into the demon’s guts.

“Go ahead, send me back if you can,” Alastair spat.

“I’m stronger than that now,” Sam smirked. “Now I can kill.”

Sam tightened his hold on Dean, pulling him back so his bloody hand slipped from Alastair’s chest. He pressed against Dean from behind as he demonstrated just how far his power had increased. Dean smiled as he watched Alastair’s body jerk and spasm, until finally, he hung limp and motionless, the demon inside the meatsuit dead and gone.

“How did you do that?” Dean turned to face Sam. “Don’t lie to me anymore, I want to know.”

Not taking his eyes from Dean’s, Sam raised his brother’s hand to his mouth and licked across his palm, slipping Dean’s thumb between his lips and sucking it clean.

“I’m sorry I lied to you. It makes me strong, fuels my powers.”

Dean stepped closer, and leaned in to kiss Sam, chasing the taste of demon blood with his tongue. He pulled back, panting.

“This is what you’ve been getting from Ruby?”

Sam nodded, not ashamed any more now that the truth was out.

“We don’t need her.” Dean offered Sam his hand again, and Sam slipped his tongue between his fingers, lapping the thick, sticky blood from between them. Dean groaned as Sam pressed against the front of Dean’s pants, cupping Dean’s hard dick. Dean gasped, the unexpected touch sparking need through him, a need he didn’t see any reason to hide.

“Sam,” he groaned, bucking his hips forward.

Sam’s long fingers tugged down the zipper on Dean’s jeans and freed his cock. He worked him hard and fast, thumb sliding over the leaking head. Dean’s mouth slammed against Sam’s, devouring him as Sam brought him gasping to the edge. Sam tore his mouth away, slid to his knees in the mess of blood and holy water on the floor and wrapped his lips around Dean’s cock, just in time to catch the salty come that erupted from it on his tongue. Dean held Sam’s head in place, fucking into his mouth, grinding against his face until he swallowed the last drop and Dean’s hands gentled in his hair.

Sam got to his feet, tucking Dean’s spent dick away. As Dean sagged in his arms, Sam gestured with his hand and Castiel fell to the floor from where he’d been pinned to the ceiling. He pushed himself up, getting to his feet as Sam and Dean turned to go.

“Don’t do this. This isn’t the way to stop the apocalypse.”

“We tried it your way, and it’s not exactly been working.” Sam looked at him accusingly, his pupils still dilated black. “Now we do it our way.”

Dean nodded his agreement. “Don’t come after us, Cas, we’re done.”

“Wait …” Castiel took a step forward, but was slammed back against Alastair’s broken body with a flick of Sam’s wrist.

“Stay out of our way.” The warning in Sam’s voice was clear and his arm tightened around Dean protectively. “And remember, whatever happens from this point on, you were the one to start it.”

He pulled Dean closer, kissing him hard. They both looked over at Castiel one last time, then left.

Castiel dropped to his knees and looked heavenward.

“Father, what have I done?”


End file.
